


Puppet

by Smokeycut



Category: overwatch
Genre: Dubious consent considering Widow's backstory, F/M, References to Gerard's death, References to torture and brainwashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 03:25:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11454990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smokeycut/pseuds/Smokeycut
Summary: Doomfist makes a stop in Annecy after regaining his freedom. There, he reunites with an old pet project of his.





	Puppet

**Author's Note:**

> I've mentioned on my tumblr before that almost all of my fanfic ideas for Overwatch are pretty screwed up. This is no exception. The Widowmaker/Doomfist dynamic is one that I find interesting, but is obviously disturbing when you look at it further. That's what this is. An examination of what exactly this ship is about.

Akande entered his Annecy safe house calmly, pulling the door shut behind him. In his other hand he carried a suitcase which contained his gauntlet. The flight had been easy, relaxing even. The benefits of having a private jet at his disposal, he supposed. He walked through a hallway, the suitcase rolling on the wooden floorboards behind him. Coming into the living room, he let the suitcase rest against the wall, and he looked around, seeing what had changed.

To his pleasant surprise, it hadn't. The carpets were the same, as was the furniture, even in arrangement. The pictures that he had hung on the walls years before were still where he had left them, and he suspected that they hadn't even moved an inch. 

"Good girl," he whispered. 

"Hello," Widowmaker said flatly, stepping into the living room from another hallway. She stood behind the couch and studied Akande silently, as he regarded her in return. It had been years since they last saw one another, but it felt as though it was only yesterday that he last gave her orders. 

"Why don't we celebrate my return, hm? Fetch us a bottle of wine," Akande ordered, gesturing towards the kitchen. Widowmaker nodded, then turned on her heel and did as she was told. Akande followed, studying his assassin as they walked.

She wasn't wearing her catsuit, but rather a long silk robe. It's deep red hue contrasted with her azure skin, and Akande briefly considered slipping it off of her. Later, he decided. When he had finished settling in. He watched as she poured two glasses of wine, still silent. She only spoke again as they toasted to his return.

"À votre santé," she said.

"À la tienne," he replied, before taking a sip. 

Akande studied Widowmaker intently, focusing on her eyes. He wondered if there was still some faint ghost of Amélie inside of her. A small voice, crying out at herself to stop killing, to stop hurting her old friends. Still mourning her late husband. If there was, that small part of her must despise him. After all, he was the one who told her to kill Gerard. She had simply nodded at him after hearing the order, her face devoid of emotion. She understood that it had to be done. Talon's enemies, Akande's enemies, had to be eliminated. Gerard had just made the mistake of picking the wrong side. She understood that.

Akande set down his glass, and Widowmaker followed suit. He brushed a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, and cupped her cheek in his hand. He remembered her reconditioning perfectly. The way she cried out in pain as they tortured her. The look of sheer horror on her face as they used a virtual reality headset to make it seem as though she was killing hostages. The way she hung her head low after weeks and weeks of hearing Talon's rhetoric through speakers on the wall. The acceptance that crept across her face as she came to understand. The more that they tortured her, the better she would become. The more humanity suffered, the stronger they would become.

"Kiss me," he told her as she set her wine glass on the counter. 

She did as she was told.

"Again," he whispered, thinking back to the day that Amélie broke down and began apologizing for believing that peace was anything but a myth. 

She kissed him again.

"Again," he growled into her ear. He thought about the day she came back to him, her husband's blood spattered on her blouse. Tears stained her cheeks, and she confessed that she felt alive.

She kissed him again, and he parted her lips with his tongue, pushing deeper into her mouth. She gave way, tilting her head back as he ran his hands through her hair, gripping it tightly. One of his hands drifted down, and came to rest on the small of her back. He stepped forward, and she stepped back, until she was pressed up against the counter. She moaned softly as his tongue explored her mouth, as she laid one hand against his chest, and used the other to pull back her robe, exposing her bare thigh. 

"Not yet," Akande whispered, pulling back. He looked her in the eye and saw only acceptance. She nodded her head, pulled her robe closed again, and drummed her cold fingers against his warm chest. He stepped back, and pulled her with him. Holding onto one another, they waltzed around the kitchen, and he smiled gently. "Tonight, Amélie. Tonight you will be mine."

"I understand."


End file.
